The Second Time
by Ponderess
Summary: "If you see it from the linear perspective people usually experience time, it is his first visit to this grave. From his point of view however, it is his second time and will be his last." - The Doctor visits Rory's fresh grave and meets an aged Amelia. (My heart broke when I wrote this. You have been warned.) Update: I added a short epilogue.
1. The Second Time

The light has already begun to fade over the skyscrapers of Manhattan, yet the streets are busy as ever. Life is pulsing through New York City at every hour of the day. In contrast to it, the graveyard is still and almost deserted. There is only a single visitor. He stands over one of the multiple graves, his face filled with so much pain and loss. If you see it from the linear perspective people usually experience time, it is his first visit to this grave. From his point of view however, it is his second time and will be his last. He isn't one to linger, because if he stopped for too long the weight of all his loss would wear him down.

"How long has it been for you?"

His mouth twitches unpleasantly. It sounds different from the last time he has heard it – deeper, older – but he knows that voice. How could he forget that voice? Not even after all this time.

"A while," he tells the evening air vaguely.

Not even the lively noises of Manhattan can disturb the silence that follows his words. He is just standing there, registering no movement from behind him. It is as if she wasn't there and her words had only been in his mind. But he can hear her breath. He knows she's there. He's just not ready yet to face her.

"You missed Rory by a few weeks. He passed away peacefully – if that helps."

Yes, she definitely is there, probably not knowing what to say, not even knowing what to think right now. What is he even doing here? What is he doing to himself, to _her_? She already said goodbye, a long time ago.

"Doctor, what are you doing here?"

She doesn't sound pained, but fierce, demanding an answer. She has still that same old temper, almost. Age has worn it out a little, as it wears everything out. How he hates it.

When he finally turns to look at her, he has stretched their silence as long as he dared. She is in her eighties, five years from her death as he knows from her gravestone, the same gravestone that – now behind him – holds the name of her husband: Rory Arthur Williams.

Looking at her, he finds himself fighting the tears. How much she has withered. Her skin is wrinkled from age. The once auburn floating hair is now tied back in a white knot on her head.

He gives a weak smile. She does not smile back. Maybe she is too upset about his appearance.

"I liked it when you had it open," he indicates her hair.

"Those times are over," she replies and the words sting his chest. But he nods bravely.

"Why have you come?" she asks once more, weaker this time.

"I had to see you."

The words seemed so hard to utter, but now they are said, he feels relieved – if just a little. He cannot quite say what they do to her, though. And once again he thinks he shouldn't have come here.

"I thought you didn't like endings." Her voice isn't accusing.

"I don't," he admits quietly. "I just couldn't let it end like this."

She looks at him, her eyes wide, almost as if she was young again. Back in the days when they were still travelling together, she had looked at him like that when she had tried to understand his motivations. He had never been quite honest with his reasons, but now, seeing her definitely for the last time, he had at least to try and explain what this was about.

"I lost someone, a long time ago and I never really got to tell her what she meant to me. And a while later I got a second chance: Against all odds I saw her again and yet I was convinced that it didn't need saying. But it did. It always does. And yet I'm always struggling to say these words. So, Amelia Jessica Pond…"

"It's Williams, actually," she corrects him.

He presses his eyes shut and shakes his head. He cannot think of Rory now, even though he is standing right in front of his grave. Because if he does, he will think of how Rory loved her and how she loves him and then he would not be able to say what he is about to tell her.

She stays silent, understanding that he needs to do this his way. And when he looks at her again, he finds reassurance in her eyes, but also fright of what she might hear now. Taking a deep breath, he prepares for his next words – those words he wished he had said earlier and yet could not utter before it was too late.

"I love you; I always have ever since you stepped into the TARDIS and I always will until these two hearts beat their last."

He cannot bear to look at her, to see how the lines on her forehead deepened and her lips trembled. Trying to escape the sight, he lets his gaze trail towards the ground, but he forces himself to see into her eyes again. They are clouded with tears.

"Why? Why didn't you say anything before?" she demands weakly.

"Because I knew I could never grow old with you and you love Rory and he loved you. I couldn't have been so selfish to stand between you."

"And why now?" She is trying her best now, not to actually break out in tears.

He hesitates.

"Because we're both old, Amelia and it's my last chance. And once in a while I have to be a little selfish."

She shakes her head slowly. Closing the distance between them, she takes his head in her hands and presses her forehead against his.

"You stupid, old fool," she breathes.

Closing his eyes, he takes in her scent. She smells different from the last time, but he doesn't mind. As he equally takes her head into his hands, he can feel her hair. It has become thinner and less smooth. Oh, how he misses that auburn glowing mane. Why did it have to fade?

"I'm not going to kiss you with those wrinkly old lips of mine – it's far too late for that." He gives a weak snort, but her words pain him more than they amuse him. "But know that I love you too – as I loved Rory. I loved you both. You were my boys."

"But you chose him and that was for the better," he offers.

"Because you had River and I had become your mother in law."

He doesn't know whether to laugh or to cry about that.

"I never knew…," she whispers.

"Amelia," he manages, then tears overwhelm him and he pulls her into a tight hug.

"Doctor, don't let me die alone," she begs. "Please!" He doesn't reply, just strikes her back. "I'm old; soon I'll follow Rory into death, I can feel it."

"Five years."

"How do you know?" Her voice is just as broken as his.

"It's written in stone."

"But why tell me."

"What does it matter now anyway?" he asks bitterly.

They cling onto each other, because it's the only thing they have right now. His scent is in her nose and with eyes closed she dreams of the long past days when she was still young and went onto all those ridiculous adventures with him. For a minute she feels young again. But that is just a fleeting moment, all too soon she remembers that she is 82 years old and has about 5 years left to live.

"I wish I could do something to reverse it, something to prolong our time together, something to keep you with me," he whispers into her ear. A painful smile touches her lips briefly.

"That's just the way of life, Doctor, you can't change that," is her reply. He simply presses his lips against her temple.

"Will you stay with me?" she tries once more, still entangled in his arms. He does not answer. Never again will the Doctor make a promise to Amelia he cannot keep for sure.


	2. Epilogue

**A/N:** _I had planned this as a oneshot, but then one thing led to another and I had the idea for an epilogue._  
_And then I also noticed I forgot to mark this story as complete, so it doesn't matter anyway._  
_This might be even sader than the first part, don't hate me._  
_Oh, and I love how things came together and the title is now not only a reference to the Doctor's second visit to Rory's grave._  
_By the way: comments are very welcome. ;)_

* * *

**Epilogue**

He had seen her dreams before. That one time when the psychic pollen had created two dream worlds for them, he had been able to see her secret desires. It had sparked hope in him, hope for a life with Amelia Pond, a life he could've never had – not now anyway.

This time he was certain to find no hope there. She was old, dying – it was only a matter of time. What do people dream of when they are nearing death? Do they dream of their past life or imagine what lies ahead of them? Or do they just make up adventures they can never live?

He gently tucked a white strand of hair behind her ear to get a better look on her face. Her wrinkled skin was still something he couldn't get used to, no matter how often he looked at her. The five years were almost full and it hadn't made him dislike the process of physical aging less, if so it actually had made him hate it more. Often had he thought about leaving her, just getting inside the TARDIS and running away – again. But he couldn't do that to her, even though he hadn't promised anything.

With his fingers he caressed her wrinkly skin. It was soft and slightly gave away beneath his touch. His fingertips touched her temples and he closed his eyes as he entered her mind.

She was dreaming of the stars, the swirling nebulas of the universe. And of hair that was auburn red and skin untouched by age. He found her on Starship UK where they had looked at the stars together after she had saved the last of the Starwhales. She was alone, but why? She shouldn't be. Where was Rory? Why wasn't he by her side?

When he approached she turned to face him. A smile graced her lips as she recognised him. He felt like rushing towards her – towards the Amelia he knew, the young Amelia that occupied his TARDIS once – but something held him back.

"Are you dwelling on the past?" he asked instead.

Her gaze wandered towards the window. "Aren't you sometimes dwelling on the past, too?"

"Hardly, too much pain," he admitted.

She let her eyes rest on him again. They were kind, but also sad. "This is all I have," she whispered.

And then, carefully she came closer to overcome the distance between them. She traced his suspenders with her fingers until her hands rested on his shoulders. He tensed as her breath brushed up his throat. This was just a dream, he told himself. But it felt so real and he had waited for this moment for so long. Their gazes locked and for a while they just explored each other's eyes.

Tentative she stretched up towards him. Her hands moved to the back of his neck and she pulled him down, so their lips could meet. It was a soft, delicate brush at first, completely different to their first kiss all those years ago on the night before her wedding.

He hesitated a little more, before participating. Hands slinging around her waist, he pulled her closer. With his tongue he tasted her lips, before they parted and let him in. The kiss grew more passionate and he thought then that he never wanted to part with her. And yet he knew he had to.

The taste of salt seeped onto his lips and he pulled back. A trail of tears glittered on her cheeks. He wanted to think that it was from happiness, but her eyes told him otherwise.

"It's time to go," she said hoarsely.

He began to shake his head, first weakly, then more intense. "No, don't go. Not yet," he pleaded.

She smiled. "It's okay, Doctor, I'm not afraid."

Leaning forward, he rested his forehead against hers and shut his eyes pained. "But I don't want you to go."

Her fingers trailed through his hair and her soft breath brushed his lips. "I had a good life," she said, "a long life. Maybe not every single wish of mine came true, but I'm without regret. I don't regret travelling with you, I don't regret loving and marrying Rory and I don't regret loving you. And I believe in you. You will travel on and one day you will find love again. Just, don't forget me. Promise me you won't forget me."

"Never," he whispered. Tears had come to his eyes. "Amelia Pond, I will never forget you."

She exhaled happily and relieved. Opening his eyes, he found her gaze still glistening with tears, but not with sadness. He claimed her lips again and they kissed one last time. The dream began to fade, her lips slowly dissolving, her body disappearing between his hands. There was no word of goodbye, but their lips had said so much more.

His fingers slid from her temples and he opened his eyes. Before him lay Amelia Pond, age 87. She had taken her last breath.

The Doctor leaned forward to kiss her forehead for the last time.


End file.
